Mother Dresses Her Child


Great Mother come and dress your child
With clothes of meaning bright and clear.
My head is filled with cluttered thoughts
And words all strewn from ear to ear

I've dressed myself in layers thick;
Yet which to keep I do not know.
So proud of all the words I own,
A cultivated circus show.

I would undress my mind a bit,
My jeweled wit pilled upon the floor
And meditate the East sky clad.
Tubal the open door!

You wait with patient countenance
To get a word in edgewise.
And when I pause, you speak to me,
Quiet words and wondrous wise.

Your words make sense of all the rest,
Coordinate to clothe the whole.
The faded closet comes alive
With accessories from the soul.

Tubal